XII
by EpicDaydreamer
Summary: L finds himself stuck on a case against a serial killer with a personal vendetta against him. Enter in 13, a freelance investigator with anger management issues and a mysterious past. They will have to work together to solve this case, even as the serial killer's gaze falls on 13.
1. Prologue

A.N: I've posted this before under depraved experiment, but because I'm no longer using that account I am reposting (and hopefully finishing) the story under this account. Please review. Much love.

XIII(13)

Epic Daydreamer

Prologue:

"The Early bird gets the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese."

Murder of the Heart

_Monday, November 21, 2003_

"…of the night. The predator loomed in the darkness  
the street light caused, waiting for his prey. He watched  
with intensity that could only be matched with that  
of a hungry lion, holding in baited breath for his chance to strike.  
He scratches his head in nervous habit, unknowingly letting  
much needed DNA accumulate on the ground to be found  
later. Finally his prey, a young, slender female  
possibly in her mid twenties steps out of the empty diner, and  
hurriedly walks the short mile to her car. She wishes she  
didn't park so close to the tree line. Once she reaches her car door a  
relieved breath rushes out, but just as quickly turns into a shock intake  
as something knocks her unconscious. She collapses. The predator smirks down  
at his captured prey, pulling out a knife. He cuts the ring finger off,  
the engagement ring bouncing off the ground.  
He knew the police believed this was his calling card, but in reality,  
this had deeper meaning. If he couldn't have the woman he loved, then no one  
deserved to have the woman they loved. He would finish the job, by 'breaking' the heart  
of his prey, just as _his_ love broke his heart…"

-_Written by_13 (XIII)-_The Los Angeles Times_

The news paper crumpled with the grip of the reader as their eyes perused the column over and over again, making sure to take in every detail of the story. A tired sigh escapes slightly opened lips, as a hand releases the fragile pages in favor for running rough fingers through soft, yet tousled, hair. The sounds of the Chinese restaurant was raucous with the general public and various families enjoying dinner with laughter and loud discussions of their personal lives, making the two individuals sitting in a quiet booth in the back almost invisible.

Naomi Misora, FBI agent currently working the Beverly Hills heartbreak murder case, leans in to drink slowly from her glass of sweet tea. Her current partner, detective Bartholomew "Barty" Jones, finally places the rumpled sheets of newspaper on the empty seat beside him, and pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket. He takes a couple of drags before speaking; the fiery embers of the cigarette burn hotter, then cooler with every intake.

"This was really published two weeks ago?" His thick eyebrows arched in inquiry, as if the paper in his hands wasn't real.

"Considering I got it from an informant in the paper, I'm sure it is." She replied absently, her fingers stirring the ice tea with her straw.

"How the hell did this 13 character get this kind of information? No one outside of those working on the case knew that the third victim was originally killed outside a diner, but only that she was found in a dumpster clear across town. No one knew that we found DNA evidence or that the killer's motivation was caused by an emotional issue of possessive heartbreak. Even more so, no one knew that the victim was originally knocked out before being dragged off. All this information was confidential. "

"I know."

"_I know?_ What kind of response is that Misora? How do you think this person is getting this information?"

"I don't know how you wish for me to respond. I don't know how their getting their information, but that isn't what worries or amazes me."

Barty took a sip of his vodka, and flicked his cigarette in the ashtray as his eyes caught Misoras'.

"Then what is it really that is getting to you about this anonymous 13?" His voice was heavy with curiosity… and perhaps worry.

"What worries me is how good this 13 is?"

"Good?"

"Yes. He or she knew all of these things about the same time we did, but was able to piece all of it together in enough time to have parts of it printed in the newspaper. 13 was able to connect the murderer's mode of operation with incentive and attempted to leave clues for the police to find for us to catch up. If we had known about the news article, we probably would have found the murderer before he killed the last two victims."

"Wow…That's true." Barty paused for a moment as the cute blond waitress dressed in an imitation Chinese dress brought them their meals. She slid them neatly in front of each of them, before asking if there was anything else they needed. She smiled at their decline, before rushing off, a blush coloring her cheeks as the deep voiced, "we're fine beautiful" came from Barty.

Naomi laughed.

"You really are an animal. She's going to be smiling from that for the rest of the night." Barty laughed haughtily.

"I can only hope. Anyway, what do we know about this 13?" He quickly shoved a fork full of chow mein into his mouth.

"Nothing really. Just that this is not the first paper he or she has written in. I'm assuming 13 is a freelance investigator who solves cases as a kind of hobby."

"A hobby!? Why not knitting or stamp collecting?" Barty asked himself out loud. "Why do you think it's a hobby?"

"Well, after I did research on 13 I found close to 70 short stories for news paper columns all over the country. Majority of them were centered around Texas, Nevada, California, and New Mexico, although there are some as far reaching as Maine and Georgia. This person clearly travels a lot, but has never gone out for an official detective license. They are extremely intelligent in order to not have been discovered with the news paper columns or the possible hacking of police databases. I also think this is just a hobby because of how the columns are written; they're like short mystery stories. 13 possibly did this on purpose in order to not alert the general public, but hold enough case details to catch the attention of those he or she wanted, which were those investigating the various cases."

"Sounds like an interesting fellow. What do the investigators on the other cases have to say about 13's help?" Naomi smiled and laughed out loud as if at a memory…which it was.

"The one's I talked to were all a bit bitter about it, considering 13 all but solved the entire case by their self. A couple of officers even said that a box, with no evidence like finger prints or such, was sent to them containing notes –typed of course-, sensitive case photos of the victims, video tapes from the camera's of crime scenes with red arrows pointing to overlooked areas, and a list of possible suspects, including incentives, with the one who turned out to be the perpetrator circled in red."

"Whoa! No way! No wonder their pissed, I would be too. I'm glad we didn't have to deal with that on this case."

"Don't get your excitement up too high; that probably had something to do with how slow we were to discovering the news paper column in the first place. 13 couldn't send their information until they knew who, or at least what PD to send it to. Since no one responded to it, everything 13 had as evidence all but went down the drain. I personally would rather have the information, then to deal with my pride in the face of more killings." Naomi scooped up a mouthful, her Mongolian chicken tasting sweet and spicy on her tongue. Barty nodded at her, grumbling "Touché", under his breath before delving back into his meal.

They ate in comfortable silence, various things going on their minds. Once finished, the blond came back, her eyes avoiding Barty's like he was the plague, and quickly took their plates a way.

"So since our murderer is on his way to death row, what's on your to do list now?" Barty inquired, his mind tired of trying to wrap around the anonymous 13.

"I have been issued an order by the bureau to head up an investigation on a serial murder case up in LA. You?"

"The department is sending me to the Boston department. I'm supposed to be up there for fifteen months, they have a couple cases they want my input on."

"Sounds like an upgrade for you. You'll probably get a raise." Barty smiled.

"Yeah right, when I get a raise the price of living would have risen so it would be for nothing."They shared a laugh at that, before a silent agreement was reached. They both gathered there belongings, placing a tip on the table, before heading for the tinted door leading to the parking lot. Barty made sure Naomi made it to her car before they said their goodbyes.

"Well, Ms. Misora, it was a pleasure working with you. I can't say I hope we get to do it again soon, what with it possibly being a murder case, but if we do meet again let it be for something a bit more joyous." Barty smiled as his words drifted into the realm of sarcasm. Naomi smiled and laughed in agreement.

"Yeah, I hope it'll be for something a bit less bitter then this, but I doubt it, what with my luck." They laughed again before shaking hands and going their separate ways. Misora sat in the driver seat for a couple of moments, allowing her mind to relax as the engine warmed up and the defrost adjusted the viewing abilities of the window. She sighed. She had hoped for a break before going into another case, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. _As long as criminal's don't sleep, I guess justice can't either._

She put the car in drive and drove off into the night, following the directions to the next precinct that was in need of extra help.


	2. Chapter 1: You've got Mail

A.N: I've posted this before under depraved experiment, but because I'm no longer using that account I am reposting (and hopefully finishing) the story under this account. Please review. Much love.

XIII(13)

Epic Daydreamer

Chapter 1: You've Got Mail

Darkness enveloped the room in a quiet, almost prison like, atmosphere. The only available light came from the blindingly bright computer screens lining a wall with one central laptop sitting in the middle of the floor. Long, slender and pale fingers glide like dancers across the surface of the computers keys, opening and closing folders and windows with grace and accuracy. A pale face, with oddly large eyes, stares unblinkingly into the bright screen, the dark pupils so large you can barely make out the gun metal silver lining them. Dark bags, proof of constant sleepless nights, sit like the dark liner of a Goth or rock star under each eye.

He pauses.

One hand lifts itself to ruffle the already wild, raven locks on top of his head, while the other hand makes a path to nestle his thumb between his teeth. He bites a bit too hard, the skin becoming tender, but he doesn't notice.

An uncharacteristic groan escapes between his teeth, the warm breath tickling his fingers as he lays his head gently on his knee.

L was frustrated.

The case he was on was of a master criminal mind; someone with intelligence on par with his own. This was more than a detective trying to catch a criminal. This was a war… a war between the greatest detective and the greatest criminal. Or…at least that was what L had gathered from his investigations. The criminal was now in America, and according to the local precinct logs, he had already killed two individuals. They believed he had murdered only two people; a 16 year old boy known as Legend longevity and an older male known as Believe Bridesmaid.

The truth is, the unknown murderer had killed two other's before that, leaving a trail for L to follow. The first murder happened in France with an old woman whose name was Lily Lovelace. Seven straw dolls were found near her body, and her upper body was slashed open into roman numbers: IVIX. There wasn't enough evidence to suggest the purpose of the numbers yet.

The second murder happened in the terminal bathroom of a German airport. A dark skinned man by the name of Blue Baltimore. Roman letters weren't on his chest, but his eyes were missing. Unfortunately, the murderer didn't kill Baltimore right away, but strangled him until he passed out. Then once his eyes were taken, he bled to death. Six straw dolls were left with him.

The third murder happened in an alley of New York City. The victim, a 16 year old boy by the name of Legend Longevity (of whose name there was no small amounts of irony), was found beaten to death. His eyes were pushed in post mortem and his upper body was, again, slashed open in the pattern of roman numbers: VIIIX. L had a theory that the letters were connected to the name of the next victim, but he had no way of proving that yet. Five straw dolls were left with the body.

The fourth murder happened in California to a free lance writer known as Believe Bridesmaid. The victim was drugged and then choked with rope. The eyes were missing, again, and the chest was mutilated with the roman numbers: VIV. L was positive that the roman numbers were code for the name of the next victim, however it was near impossible to figure what victim with so many people in the world having 6 letters in the first name and five in the last of five letters in the first name and four in the last. Four straw dolls were left with the body.

And here he was, sitting on the floor of a private suite in the dark trying to catch an A class criminal before his next victim fell to his hands. The unfortunate thing was that there wasn't much he could go on. The straw dolls were clearly being used to count down deaths…leaving three more to still be attempted and the roman numerals were clues to the next victim. But he couldn't do anything. Never in his life had he felt so unsure and helpless. He knew the criminal was screwing with him, baiting him with the clues and the obvious insinuation of challenge for L to catch him. And L wanted to…badly.

He took a deep breath in and let it out. _What the hell am I thinking about? I finally get a challenge. I'd rather die than to let a criminal like this go free._

L smiled dangerously—some would call it creepy—at the thought, his mind ready for another run of going through evidence to try and pick up something the suspect had left behind. He lifted his hands and they hovered over the key board when—

_Bada bing_. The sound of his online mailbox receiving an email sounded from his laptop. He quickly opened the proper window and read the contents of the email…his eyebrows rising every moment.

_Good afternoon__L,_

_Or Elraldo Coil, or Deneuve, or whoever it is you wish to be today,_

_You don't know me and I don't_know_you. I merely know of you and the research that I've done that allows me to know your email and that you are not three great detectives, but one. I am not a detective by any legal standard, so don't bother trying to look me up. I am completely off the radar. I must say, you are one hard individual to get a hold of. I am quite angry with you about blowing up my last laptop with all of your firewalls and viruses, but I guess I'll get over it._

_Anyway, my research tells me that you are investigating the global murders of the—what did the Los Angeles news call him?—THE BLOODY REAPER. I merely wanted to offer some information that you may find useful. For one, all of the victim's have names with double letters: believe bridesmaid, blue Baltimore, lily Lovelace, and legend longevity. I believe that this is a window into the name of the murderer himself. The fact that he has purposely challenged you, makes me believe that you may know him personally or even impersonally, but he knows you and finds you competition for whatever plans he has or has had. So, if you can think of anyone you may know who has the same letters in their first and last name, they may be the key to figuring out who this is._

_Second, I'm not entirely sure if you have received this information. With the last victim, Believe Bridesmaid, the suspect took the time to redress the victim. He even replaced the victim's phone in his pocket. However, when analyzed, the calendar had a new entry which was set after the death of the victim: July 10__th__ of a quarter moon it said "the queen's birthday." Unfortunately, the queen's birthday isn't in January, so I thought that this is perhaps another message to that of the next victim._

_I'll keep in touch…_

_-13 (XIII)_

L sat there for couple minutes, his brain switching from thinking a thousand things to nothing at all and back again.

_What the…?_

His brain wasn't computing what it was he was reading. Someone not only hacked his computer, but knew who he was and had information on the case he was all but stuck on. _Who the hell is 13?_ It was clearly an alias, but he had never heard of 13. How could someone just up and appear out of thin air with the abilities this person had? And clearly they had abilities because no one, and I mean _no one,_ could hack L's system. Matt had designed it himself, with a few tweaks made by L himself.

He quickly jumped into action, his hands moving like lightening in order to find the location from which the email was sent. He had to break through more than enough firewalls just to discover the email was made from a public library. He bit his nail, a smirk playing across his lips.

_Interesting…_

L pressed a finger on the red button of a monitor lying off to his left.

"Yes, James." Watari's wizened voice called over the intercom, using the name L had agreed on as his alias for the trip.

"Watari, I need you to gather all information you can on someone by the name of 13." He couldn't hide the excitement underneath his voice.

_13…? A new contender in the field, maybe? Nevertheless, they gave me information I hadn't thought of yet…I just have to verify it._

L purposely ignored the twinge in his pride at having gotten information from someone else. He wasn't exactly used to someone having information before him.

"13 sir?"

"Yes, 13. Also, Watari, I need you to verify with Los Angelos PD on whether or not the victim had a new entry into their cell phone post mortem. If this is true, please ask them why it is I wasn't informed."

"Yes sir."

"Oh, and Watari…"

"Yes, James?"

"Could I have a slice of cake with some tea please?"

"Of Course, James."He could hear the smile on Watari's face as the connection broke. He sighed. His mind had quieted down enough to allow him to think.

_Double lettered names, huh? Do I know anyone, or do I know anyone who knows me that have double lettered names…?_

L spent the rest of the night writing and scratching out a list of names that would fit as suspects. It wasn't until early the next morning that confirmation on 13's information was verified, as well as a stack of random newspapers ended up sitting beside him.

"Watari, what are these?" his fingers flipped through the edges of the papers.

"Those are the only information I could find on 13." L quickly picked up one of the newspapers, the heading read _Atlanta Journal Constitution,_ and he flipped through until he spotted what he wanted.

The article seemed like a short story, but was actually a reenactment of a gang on gang crime ring that ended with five people dead. The title read _Falling before Pride,_and L knew that 13 had purposely done it this way so that the general public wouldn't understand, but those who understood the details and intricacies of the cases would.

L smirked. _Whoever this 13 character is, they are very good…_

"Is something wrong James?" Watari watched L's reaction as he read through the newspapers with impossible speed, his own eyebrows rising at the clear satisfaction on L's face.

"Nothing at all Watari. I just think I am beginning to like the number 13."

A/N: I'm well aware you haven't been introduced to the amazing 13 yet. He or she will be making their debut in the next chapter. And trust that they are just as strange as L or even BB. Oh, I do hope you realize that L is working on the LABB murder case.

Please review you beautiful fanfiction lovers.


	3. Chapter 2: The first day of the rest of

A.N: I've posted this before under depraved experiment, but because I'm no longer using that account I am reposting (and hopefully finishing) the story under this account. Please review. Much love.

XIII(13)

Epic Daydreamer

Chapter 2: The First Day of the rest of your life

"All my life I wanted to be somebody. Now I see I should have been more specific."-Lily Tomlin

_I'll keep in touch…_

_-13(XIII)_

Long, curly, blood red hair hangs in wild disarray around a tanned heart shaped face. Delicate features like that of a pixie and amber eyes with dark circles, making said eyes look bigger than they are, create the face of a young woman who could be between the ages of 15 to 25. A long, white and black feather earing hangs from her right ear and hides within the ribbons of curls. A slender, yet curvaceous body can be seen beneath the contours of a tan wool jacket, a neon green shirt with a purple iced cupcake dancing and singing 'hot crossed buns', and a pair of loose khaki pants. Her favorite accessory, a frilly apron, was tied around her waist even if it did clash with her black, combat boots.

A Playful smirk danced across her lips as she closed the mailing window and began encrypting codes and firewalls to cover her escape. She knew L would be able to break them, which was why they were only meant to slow him down. Not that he would really be able to figure out who she was considering she was on the Library's public internet line. She knew better than to try anything on her own laptop, what with L's advanced safe guards blowing the system with 30 viruses popping up at once.

A tick formed on her forehead for a moment, her anger rising at the memory of the surprising death of her mac laptop. She fought the urge to ball her fists, memories of her anger classes coming into play as she began to state random facts under her breath.

"In the average lifetime, a person will have walked the equivalent of five times around the equator. Odontophobia is the fear of teeth. The 57 on the Heinz ketchup bottles represent the number of varieties of pickles the company once had."

She felt the anger dissipate and allowed the feeling of peace to wash over her. She smiled, before getting up, eyeing the raised eyebrows of those sitting around her. This, of course, didn't bother her. She had always been given such looks, at least since she could remember. Her hand lifted and rubbed the back of her neck, the raised unseen markings giving her comfort as she walked up to the librarian's desk.

Ms. Loran, the ever smiling brunette, sat behind the heavy chestnut desk, her eyebrows drawn together as her light brown eyes scanned the screen of the computer. 13 quickly noticed the details that normal people tended to overlook: the light purplish bruising around Ms. Loran's right eye which was covered in an application of _almost_ perfect foundation, the slight shaking of her hands as she typed, and the slight twitch at sudden noises that went unnoticed. _Almost unnoticed._

_Her husband must be at the alcohol again._

"Hey Mrs. Loran." 13 called out gently, her smile exuding warmth which quickly eased the shaking of Ms. Loran's hands, but little else.

"Why hello there, Ms. Ivy Rose, how are you today?" 13, or rather Ivy's, smile broadened.

"I'm alright. How about you?" Ivy's heart felt a twinge at the slight flinch on the older woman's face, the slight wrinkles around her eyes and mouth becoming deeper.

"I'm fine dear. But I can see you haven't changed much; still the same wild red hair, clear lack of sleep, and obsession with wearing aprons." Ivy unknowingly wrapped her finger around a lock of long, curly hair that hung over her shoulder, her eyes glancing down at the pink, waist apron with cute ruffles, the words "Bakin' isn't just for housewives, "in black, old English font.

What could she say? She liked baking and she owned an apron in every style, color, and varying lingos she could find. It was just her thing. Plus, the dark circles under her eyes _were_ caused by a lack of sleep; or more like a combination of insomnia and paranoia.

"I like aprons."

"Clearly." Ms. Loran smiled a genuine smile, her eyes twinkling with what was so obviously adoration. "It's ok. It looks good on you." Ivy smiled at Mrs. Loran's motherly tone.

"Well, Mrs. Loran, I came to see if my book has come in yet."

"Oh, yes, right." The older woman turned her head back to the monitor, entering in a couple of words and then pausing for the results.

"I'm sorry Ivy, but the book on criminal behavior and personality is still not in yet. It should be in within the week. Although, I don't know why you want it, you've already read at least ten books on the subject already. Are you studying the subject in school?" Ivy laughed, covering up the lie she was about to tell.

"I'm just doing some light reading right now."

"Light reading?" Ivy tried not to laugh at the opened mouth stare she was receiving.

"Thanks, Mrs. Loran. I'll talk to you later. Oh and here." Ivy reached to the side and pulled off a sticky note. She then grabbed a pen and jotted down her number and email, before giving it to the woman across the desk.

"If you need me or some place to stay, don't you dare hesitate to contact me." Light brown eyes looked up at her questioning.

"Why would I need-?" Mrs. Loran paused at the serious, almost lethal, look from the usually passive, yet bubbly seeming girl. Her hands lifted to her eye, before biting her lips to hold back a sob. A hand reached out to comfort her.

"I won't call the police if you don't want me to. But I wanted to let you know that I'm here and that there is still a door open for you to escape. Too many women end up dead from domestic violence. I don't want the next time I see you, to be at your funeral." A sob finally broke free, but was quickly covered by a hand. Ivy stood there, her expression a mix between grim determination and comfort.

"Thank you." Ivy smiled.

"Anytime." She waved a goodbye as she watched Mrs. Loran get up and head to the bathroom in order to straighten herself up, before shuffling out the rotating glass doors, her arms pulling the heavy jacket closer to her body. The sun was bright today, even though it was still cold, and there were no clouds in the sky. It was rather suspicious. No clouds in the sky usually meant something was going to happen, because no clouds in the sky was a 'too good to be true' kind of day.

Her hands played absently with the ruffles of her apron as she observed everyone around her. _Overweight business man, mom and daughter, two female runners listening to their iPods (how do they run in weather like this?), and four idiot college males headed straight for me._In order to avoid any possible confrontation-she really was trying to avoid that at all cost-she crossed the street and walked along the sidewalk next to the dog park.

The breeze blew swiftly through her dark red locks, the cold air lifting them and allowing them to bounce back into place. The smell in the air was warm and held the soft scent of cinnamon rolls. 13 closed her eyes and enjoyed the smell, her feet unconsciously walking her towards the alluring scent, which, coincidentally, was in the direction of the park.

Bang.

"OW! Holy Shitake Mushrooms!" She quickly grabbed hold of her knee, the pain stretching throughout the hurt bones in a throbbing sensation. Her eyes opened so she could scan her surroundings, realizing she had walked into the metal part of a bench.

"You should be careful Miss. It's not smart to walk with your eyes closed." A laugh was quickly followed with a concerned voice. The voice was still doing its best to hold in the laughter.

A young girl with short black hair and dark eyes sat on a bench eating a cinnamon bun. _That's where the smell came from._13 sat down beside her, and smiled, which turned into a laugh. It was kind of funny to walk with your eyes closed into a bench.

"You're right. I'll be careful next time. That sure smells good." 13 paused again to enjoy the aroma, causing the girl to laugh again.

"If you want one, you can get it at a stand over there." She pointed at a yellow truck almost hidden behind the curve of a walking track and a thick oak tree. A man stood leaning against the tree with his back to them, his hair wild and black, and his curved spine covered in a well worn, long sleeved black shirt.

"Thanks. I'll make sure to go by there before I leave the park." The young girl nodded, licking the icing off her fingers and wiping them on the already sticky portion of her blue jeans. They enjoyed a quiet moment, both comfortable in the other's presence.

"Why do you have on an apron? You don't seem like the type to cook." 13 raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised.

"What does that mean?" The girl blushed in embarrassment.

"I only meant that you look almost like a surfer mixed with a fairy mixed with a zombie." 13 sweat dropped.

"Well…that's a first."

"Well you have a surfer tan and you wear surfer clothes, what with those baggy khaki pants—you probably wear short shorts in the summer- and that random neon green shirt with a cupcake on it. You have wild, dark red, curly hair and amber eyes like a fairy from those cartoons on Disney channel. But your eyes also have extremely dark circles under them (YES LIKE L), and you have a slight slouch like you purpose to be lazy-that makes you a zombie." The girl said all this between eating the last bites of her cinnamon bun.

"Wow. You are extremely observant. People like you are rare indeed. Anyway, I wear this apron because I like wearing aprons. "13 watched her for another moment before responding, a smirk coming across her face at the silent challenge."Well, what about you?"

This time, the young girl raised her eyebrows.

"What about me?"

"You look like a vampire mixed with an activist mixed with a musician." The young girl stared.

"How did you come to that conclusion?"

"Well. You have pale, fair skin with a cute pixie cut and dark eyes—stereotypical vampire. You're an activist because you're wearing feather earrings painted green (which symbolize the GO GREEN! Movement) and a shirt that says, "Take care of the earth because she takes care of us." Not to mention the environmentally friendly jeans you're wearing that still have the tag on them by the way. And your hands and neck have permanent indentations of where you would hold and play a violin."

"You're very good."

"Thank you." They laughed.

"What's your name?"

"The name's Ivy Rose. You won't forget it, I'm too memorable."

"Yeah. I can believe that. My name's Quarter Queen. It's nice to meet you." The young girl stretched her hand out to shake…but Ivy was mentally gone.

_Quarter Queen? There's something about that name I just can't place…What is it? My gut is telling me to lock this girl away and protect her…but why?_

…_This is going to drive me insane until I figure it out…_

"…Rose…Ms. Ivy Rose, are you there?" Ivy shook her head.

"Sorry about that."

"Yeah, you left us mortals here on earth and went to another world for a minute there." Ivy smirked at the young girl's sarcasm.

"Yeah yeah…I promise to stay on this planet from now on oh great Queen." There it was again. Her name caused a stutter in her heartbeat. Ivy clenched her apron and took a deep breath. _I better go before I make a scene._

Ivy stood up and stretched, her body falling back into her characteristic lazy slouch.

"It was nice meeting you Quarter Queen. If you don't mind me asking, how old are you?" Quarter nodded.

"I'm thirteen. How old are you?" A wicked look crossed Ivy's face before disappearing.

"It's a secret."

"What!?" Quarter looked outraged. "But I told you my age!"

"Of which I never promised to tell you my age."

"That's not fair!" A cute pout crossed her face as she folded her arms.

"Neither is life my young friend." The young girl huffed and Ivy put her hands in her jean pockets.

"Hey." Her serious tone caught the young girl's attention. "You be careful. I have a bad feeling, and I don't want to see you hurt. Be careful and keep an eye out for your surroundings." The girl nodded and Ivy took a couple steps in the direction of the cinnamon bun van, before doubling back.

"Do you have a phone?" Quarter nodded again before she reached into the black purse sitting beside her, pulling out a cute, hot pink cell phone with a Purple Heart dangling from the corner.

"I'm going to give you my number. You can call me if there is ever an emergency or you just need to talk…ok." Quarter smiled as she entered in the number the older female gave her. The number, of course was untraceable by anyone…not even L himself could trace it.

"Thanks Ivy!" Ivy smiled at the beaming light's coming from the young girl's exposed teeth.

"Don't mention it. I'll see you around." And with that, Ivy walked over to the cinnamon bun truck, noticing that the dark haired man was no longer leaning against the tree. She allowed her eyes to roam around the park inconspicuously, and still she didn't see him. She put it to the back of her mind as she came to the window of the yellow van.

Soon she was making her way back to her apartment, her stomach a little less empty and her hands a little more sticky.

Her apartment , well more like a loft, was in a cozy neighborhood that was neither high end or low class. She was able to afford it. She was a novelist, and a successful one at that, although none of her published works were under her name. All her published fantasies hid under the alias of J.C. Colbert, and her Romance novels under the ever lovely and mysterious Leanette Rymes. Her mystery novels, those were her favorite to write, went under the initials I.V.E. (IVY). The proceeds were put into an offshore account and deposited into a secure account here in America. She made sure to pick everything up in cash though, making sure as to not leave a trail through credit cards.

She could be considered a little paranoid.

The brick building sat in the back of a neighborhood filled with varying structures from houses to townhouses to duplexes. Children played in the street and cars made sure to drive no higher than 15 m.p.h. She climbed the black metal stairs to her door, the number 363 gleaming in silver letters from the black paint. Fiddling around with her keys she opened the door and entered her sanctuary.

Said sanctuary was a disaster.

Newspapers littered the floor and stacks of boxes with evidence from past cases she had attempted stood stacked up against the left wall. A round table hidden beneath a wild amount of documents stood in the center of the room, the low hanging light swinging directly above it. In the right corner stood her black piano, _her baby_, in the only clean area of the room. The large windows were covered from top to bottom with what appeared to be a giant erase board, cutting out all possible light from entering. The board itself was beginning to be covered in red writings, a list of victim's names and possible behavior analysis could be seen in neat hand writing from left to right.

She paused for a second before heading to her bedroom, a shower on her mind. Her room was much neater, mostly because she didn't spend much time in it. Purple walls met silver carpet; said carpet was the fluffy kind that makes you want to sleep on it instead of the bed. A dark cherry wood four poster bed stood in the center, a lavender feather comforter covering it. The rest of the room was normal; a matching dresser and cherry wood mirror hung on the wall in the corner. The only thing abnormal were the two posters hanging over her bed: A Solid black poster with a white Gothic L on it, the words_Justice will always prevail_ at the bottom, and a bright poster of two cupcakes holding hands while skipping through a meadow, the sky fading from a cotton candy pink to tangy orange, the words _Eat cake, Don't hate_ in a bright blue rainbow arch.

Even she thought it was a funny combination, which was why she always laughed when she saw it.

Laughing, she opened the drawer of her side table and pulled out a couple of a twizzlers. She chewed on them while stripping down, walking into her Mohican styled bathroom, and jumping into the shower. The warm water soothed her muscles and allowed her mind to reboot. She sighed in pleasure.

Ten minutes later, she was out and dressed in a pair of care bear pajama bottoms and a ripped black shirt with the bottom gone, her belly button and rose vine tattoo showing. Said tattoo curled around her navel and wound its way around the curve of her waste to dip gently down the curve at the center of her back. Roses and thorns could be seen sprouting in various places.

The kitchen was by far her favorite part of her place, hence the apron obsession. She could cook, but it was baking that was her passion. The sweet aromas and warm flavors always put her in a good mood. Tonight she decided on baking a double chocolate cake. The cocoa helped her think and right now she needed to go over the evidence she had hacked from various security systems and police databases. Plus, she still needed to think about what it was about Quarter Queen that was making her neck itch.

She moved around the kitchen with the elegance of a pro, cracking two eggs open at the same time with the same hand. The Cocoa powder and mayonnaise (I know it sounds gross, but mayonnaise really does make your chocolate cakes richer and creamier) coalescing into a creamy batter. She poured the thick liquid into three square pans and put them in the oven, the smell of warm chocolate already filling the atmosphere.

She walked into her living room, ignoring the rustling newspapers she walked on, and sat in the lone wooden chair facing the dry erase board. She sat and stared at the words, her arms crossed over her chest.

Lily Lovelace

Blue Baltimore

Legend Longevity

Believe Bridesmaid

L? AND B?

_If the pattern continued, then the next victim's name would start with L. But that didn't seem right. Not with the riddle in the victim's phone: December 10 of a quarter moon 'The Queen's Birthday'._

_Would the victim have a name with the word birthday in it? Perhaps that was the murderer's name since the letters being used so far are L and B. L is accounted for and is the one the murderer is challenging. So the challenger's name will start with a B. Birthday…?_

_Birthday…? What a weird name?_

_Then what about the other clues? July 10? Well that was obviously the day of the next murder._

She glanced at a calendar on the wall next to her piano, it's cover decorated with various kinds of candies.

_Let's see…I sent that newspaper article in on June 21. That was at least two and a half weeks ago. I took my clothes to the cleaners on the first Wednesday of the month which was on the 6th__of July. That was 3 days ago. That makes today the 9th._

BRRRINNGGG! Her heart leapt into her throat and all her muscles locked into place as her mind tried to quickly ascertain where the atrocious noise was coming from.

_The timer._She could feel her heart slow into an uneven pace as she hurried into the kitchen to turn the white cooking timer off and take out the three perfectly baked cakes. Opening the oven, she pulled back quickly at the wave of heat that escaped. Grabbing the thick cooking mittens, she pulled the pans out and placed them on the stove, her eyes noticing the clock over the burners gleaming in green light the time as 1:45 a.m.

_Well I guess it's officially the 10th__of July. Mr. Birthday is probably getting ready to commit another murder._She froze, not at her sarcastic thoughts, but at a light bulb of realization. She turned around, her eyes zooming onto the information listed on the board across the room. _July 10th__of a quarter moon "the queen's birthday."_

13 all but ran across the room, staring at the board in horror and growing anger.

Quarter Queen

_Damn it!_

"no no no no no NO NO NO NO NO," Her voice was growing louder as understanding hit, the anger management techniques doing little to quell her anger.

"Karaoke means "empty orchestra" in Japanese. The most common name in the world is Muhammad. THE FIRST KNOWN CONTRACEPTIVE WAS CROCODILE DUNG USED BY EGYPTIANS IN 2000 B.C! THIS ISN'T WORKING!" Her voice was loud enough to be heard by neighbors, but she didn't care. Her mind was too busy remembering the face of a young girl eating a cinnamon bun… and a creeper lurking by a tree. _Fuck! I was in walking distance of him. No wonder I felt weird about him._

Unfortunately for all the anger management classes, the thought of being near the killer of four individuals, and possibly a fifth, the fifth being a young girl that she knew, was taking her to the far reaches of the third level of pissocity (the state of being pissed off, and yes I did make it up) and she wasn't sure when she would be back.

"SON OF A BITCH! AHHHHH!" She hadn't had a meltdown in a while, and she subconsciously believed it was time for one. She screamed as she grabbed glass plates from the cabinet and through them against the walls, enjoying the sound of them shattering, and taking the bat from the closet and attacking her mattress until feathers from her comforter started spilling out onto the floor. Five minutes of her going berserk resulted in her lying face down, the bat thrown somewhere across the room, and complete silence filling the loft.

Anger was done, and it was sorrow's turn to shine.

Heartache filled her chest as she sat up; her hands running through her hair and making the dryer parts stand up like the bride of Frankenstein. She wished there was something she could do, but there was nothing. Quarter had her number, but there was no guarantee that she would get a phone call. Time was against her, and the probability of Quarter's death weighed heavy in her stomach.

_The only one who could do something is L._Her eyes widened before jumping off the bed and running to her new laptop still in its' box sitting by the door. She ripped it open, plugged it up, and went through the process of entering account information and wireless pass codes. The next hour was spent creating a maze of firewalls, cyber booby traps, and encryptions as fast as she could before she pulled up a newly created email browser. Now came the hard part; hacking back into L's system without having a relapse of her laptop bursting into flames.

It was easier this time. He had clearly replaced some firewalls, but they were weak, which probably meant that he didn't mind talking to her again. That made things a lot easier.

Opening up a composition page, she began typing.

_The next victim is a 13 year old girl by the name of Quarter Queen who lives in the area of Glendale, just north of Los Angeles._

_Hurry L…! Please!_

_- 13 (XIII)_

She pressed send. Just as the message was sent, the sound of a text message being received came from her phone. Suspicious, she grabbed it from its position on the floor and flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the message, fear becoming a dominating emotion.

_Hey, Ivy! Sorry to bother you, but I think I'm being followed. I don't mean to worry you like this but…_

The message ended at but…

But what?

What stopped her from finishing the message?

13's mind began to race and her heart jumped into her throat. Her finger's quickly dialed the number from the caller I.D.

It rang.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Then finally it picked up.

"Hello? Sorry, Quarter Queen is not in at the moment, do you wish to leave a message?" A deep, masculine voice with an edge of insanity answered causally. His breathing was slightly irregular.

13's mind stopped for only a second, but it felt like eternity. Then, without really thinking, she responded.

"You're a sick bastard you know that _Mr. Bloody Reaper_?" She continued, her tone cold enough to shatter glass as she ignored the sound of his breathing all but stopping. "Or should I say, Mr. Birthday?"

She waited with baited breath, hoping that at least her suspicions on his name weren't ungrounded.

"Who _is_ this?" His voice was laced with a sick mixture of venom and genuine curiosity. She ignored the fear it created, and opted to enjoy the silent jubilation of the fact that he did not deny his name. _So I was right. JACKPOT!_

"I'm not as stupid as you seem to think I am. I'd tell you that my name is of no importance or has little consequence, but for you that would be lying. There has only ever been one man that I wanted to kill Mr. Birthday, but you are fast becoming the second. I will not rest until you are either behind bars or dead. Perhaps, when the time comes, I will let you have that option." She quickly hung up. The last thing she wanted to hear was his voice again.

She sighed and let her head fall into her hands. Quarter Queen was no doubt dead. For a moment, just an instant, 13 considered quiting her hobby of free lance investigation. Perhaps take up knitting or stamp collecting. But it was quickly pushed away in favor of the satisfying and overwhelming desire to bring _Mr. Birthday_ to justice.

13 turned around and faced the laptop again, her mind thinking hard about her next decision.

…_Sorry, but I suspect Quarter Queen to already be dead._

_L…we need to meet._

_You can contact me at this number: 71-879-425-3160_

_-13 (XIII)_

Pressing send she sits back and waits. Ten minutes later, her cell phone rings, an unlisted number blinking on the caller I.D.

A/N: Well now you've met 13 or Ivy Rose. I hope I did her justice in this chapter, I may have gotten a little excited and not put everything that I wanted into this chapter. By the way, Ivy is he alias name and thirteen is her real name. As I continue to unveil her character, you will understand why.

Love you all, especially my very first reviewer.


	4. Chapter 3: The murder that started he ga

Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it's not mine. If you don't, it's all mine.

XIII(13)

Epic Daydreamer

Chapter 3: The Murder that started the Game

"Murder is always a mistake-one should never do anything one cannot talk about after dinner."

Sugar.

The delicious substance was currently in the form of several cubes and being abundantly plopped into what was once a recognizable cup of English herbal tea. Long, pale fingers grasped the handle and lifted said cup to equally pale lips.

L's eye's roamed the list of names and the message listed in the last victim's phone. The newspapers with 13's "stories", of which he had researched and found that every one of them were based on actual events (13 was the first to solve every one of them as well, by the way), were thrown into a neat, yet messy, stack against the wall. L had read them all in a little less than 15 minutes, his research taking no more than 20.

His focus now was back on the case, his head a little giddy with the new leads. The list of suspects had been narrowed down to only a hand full of individuals. All of them were people L truly wished were not on the list, but if his line of occupation-or was it a hobby? - taught him anything it was to expect the unexpected from the most unexpected person.

A-Alexandria Applegate

B-Beyond Birthday

CC- Cherry Cornelia

Z- Zero Zibeline

S- Sonny (Snake) Szamboski

Of the five, two were already dead. A committed suicide at the whammy house four years before, unable to handle the pressure of being L's successor. A few months prior, B had up and disappeared. Z had come to whammy's house when he was already 10. He left when he turned 15, which was a year ago, claiming that he had some unfinished business in the world outside of Whammy's house. He hadn't been heard from again.

S…was extremely smart…yet, at the same time, an extreme idiot. His death came as no surprise when one day he chose to build himself an airplane and fly to Egypt. In doing so he flew over the sensitive airspace of Palestine…where he was immediately shot down and exploded on impact. Even though it was expected, it was still a sad day at the house of Whammy.

L bit the tip of his thumb. That left B, and Z (CC was currently an 8 year old still at the orphanage).

Both were missing and both were currently intelligent enough to commit the crimes. L just didn't want to believe either one was capable of the murders. He sighed and switched his thoughts to the message on the phone.

Standing up, he walked from the living room to his bedroom—or what would be his bedroom if he hadn't had the bed removed. The computer monitors had fallen asleep, a black screen with his signature Old English L in white being displayed as the screen saver. He moved the mouse and began typing, his eye's noticing the time as 3:37 A.M. of July 10th.

…

A breath of air whooshed out of his mouth, sick realization hitting him that the next murder was to be committed today. His hands hovered again over the keys and began searching for information about the quarter moon.

The results stated that tonight wasn't a quarter moon.

_Interesting…Could it possibly be a name then?_

BADABING.

There it was again: the sound of an unexpected email being received. It could have only been from one person. L quickly opened it up, excitement quickly turning to dismay.

_The next victim is a 13 year old girl by the name of Quarter Queen who lives in the area of Glendale, just north of Los Angeles._

_Hurry L…! Please!_

_- 13 (XIII)_

His hands flew to the intercom, Watari's voice coming over the speaker.

"Yes ja-." He was cut off.

"Watari I need an immediate APB (an All-Points Bulletin that means "be on the lookout") and every officer in the Glendale area looking for a 13 year old girl by the name of Quarter Queen."

"Ok!" He knew Watari's hands were moving as fast as his were, he could even hear him in the background talking to the chief of police and other smaller departments.

His thumb was beginning to bleed with anticipation and dread as it was tucked between his cringing teeth. The simple email had caused his nerve's to go on hyper speed with adrenaline, all the unused sugar going to his head and speeding his processes to impeccable heights, because there was something about the email that put him on edge. His eyes roamed the wording again.

…_Please…_

That's what it was. There was a clear air of desperation in the silent voice of the email. Something had happened to put thirteen on edge. L bit his thumb harder, the bitter metallic taste of blood tickling his tongue. If 13 was on edge, he had a feeling he needed to be on edge as well.

"James. The chief of police has sent out an emergency missing person's call to all units out on patrol. The neighboring districts are also helping to search for the girl."

"Very Good Watari. I need all information about the girl. I want to know her habits. Where does she go to school? Where does she go every day? I need this information now."

"Yes James." The intercom cut off. L was currently looking at a map of Glendale, and the possible locations the missing girl could be by comparing areas where middle schools would be with popular places of attraction for early teenagers.

The best spot to look for the girl was around the Clarkston high school. There were various shopping areas, a library, and a park all in walking distance.

"Watari." L called into the intercom.

"Yes James."

"Tell the chief to focus his search around the Clarkston high school area. That seems the most logical place to find the girl."

"Alright."

BADABING.

Another email?

L opened the window, reading the contents before his eyebrows disappeared in his hair.

…_Sorry, but I suspect Quarter Queen to already be dead._

_L…we need to meet._

_You can contact me at this number: 71-879-425-3160_

_-13 (XIII)_

…

…

_What the-?_

What the hell was going on?

L stood and began to pace around the room. _13 suspects Quarter Queen to be dead? No…13 believes that the girl is dead, not suspects. But why? How? Now 13 wants to meet with me…there's too many unanswered questions not to, and too many risks if I do meet with them._

_What to do, what to do?_

L walked back to the intercom.

"Watari?"

"Yes James?"

"Let the chief and the rest of the units know that they should be ready to find this girl dead. I have reason to believe she is no longer alive."

"Really James? What's going on? How did you come to this conclusion?"

"Connections."

"Connections?"

"Yes connections. Speaking of connections, I will need you to go and meet this connection for me. I will call them and set up a meeting place."

"Alright." L lifted his finger off the red button of the intercom and grabbed his cell phone from the next room. Walking back in front of his laptop he thought about his next move.

_13 is too smart to use a traceable phone, so I won't even waste my time with that. Hmmm…I probably should use a cover voice,…but I don't think I will. Perhaps I'll take a chance with this 13, since their taking a chance with me._

_Then again, this could be a trap._

_Then again,… I_**_am_**_L._

He entered the numbers into his phone, listening to it ring twice before a feminine voice picked up.

"Hello L." _A woman?!_ It wasn't that L was sexist or anything, it was just that he had imagined and expected 13 to be a man.

All well, perhaps it was more interesting this way.

"Hello 13. I'm surprised you wanted to talk with me." L smirked at the sound of her intake of breath at his voice.

"Yes well, some things have happened to change my role in this game. I'm surprised as well to hear you using your real voice and not an electronic cover. I thought that was how you usually rolled." L could feel his heart skip for a moment, the sound of her voice delicate yet strong. He ignored it in favor of analyzing her words. _Something has changed her role in this game? What has changed? What was your role before it was changed? Game?_ This must be a hobby for her just like it was for him, but something had changed.

"Yes. I usually do have an electronic voice over, I _clearly_ chose not to use it this time. Let's get to more important things shall we. Like what has happened and what role are you now playing in this _game._"

…Silence…

L waited for her to respond, but there was nothing.

"13 are you still there?"

"Yes I am."

"Care to respond about why it is that you have required me to contact you."

"L perhaps it was a mistake for me to have you contact me. Let me make this very clear about how I work because obviously you do not know how to work with people. I am not your underdog therefore you will not talk to me as such, especially if you want my cooperation. I do not need to give you this information, but I am choosing to because I believe you have the abilities and connections to take care of the problem. Make no mistake however, I don't _need_you. I say all this to make it very clear that I am no pushover and will not allow you to run over me just because you have a weighty title that demands respect from the majority: I am clearly not the majority. You want my respect, earn it."

L listened with increasing interest …and possibly respect…at the voice cutting across the phone. Said voice had become cold as ice and L could feel his body shiver…_slightly._ He ignored it again.

"That is fair enough Ms. 13. I apologize if I gave the impression of being rude, that was not my intention. You are right in assuming I am not use to people, and therefore am underdeveloped in human social communication."

"That is fine. To be honest, so am I. But if we are to work together, at least for the moment, I believe their needs to be a certain level of respect on both of our parts."

"Understood and I agree. Now, Ms. 13, can we get back on topic?"

"Right…let me start from the beginning. Regrettably, I had the opportunity to meet Quarter Queen yesterday, by complete accident mind you, right after I sent that first message to you." L unconsciously nodded his head, his mind playing the events on a timed schedule.

"I did see a suspicious character hovering near her, but I didn't think too much of it because I hadn't made the connection yet. It wasn't until I got back to my place that I made said connection, as soon as I did I sent you that first message. "L nodded again.

"Soon after that, I received a text message from Quarter Queen that said she thought she was being followed. However, she was unable to finish her text message. She probably hit send out of reflex to whatever was happening to her. I immediately called her then…" Her voice had dwindled down to a whisper and L could feel his heart beat faster as if he was on the edge of a thrill ride that was about to go over the crest of a giant hill.

"Then what?"

"Then _he_ picked up the phone. The murderer. I had suspicions on what his name was so I let it slip and he didn't deny it. His name is Mr. Birthday."

L felt his knees give out as he sunk to the floor, his hands shaking and his voice stuck in his throat. _Well…at least the suspect was narrowed down,_ he tried to reason in his head.

"What happened then?" He managed to ask, his voice stronger then he thought he could manage.

"Well,…I may have provoked him a bit. I did tell him that I wouldn't rest until he was behind bars or dead. I'm telling you this because this has become personal to me. Quarter Queen was a sweet and highly intelligent girl. She was also the only murder victim outside his usual M.O. as far as her name is concerned. B and L were his normal victim's names, but hers is different. I have my suspicions on that, but I need to gather more information."

"I agree. I also have made the same connection as well and was wondering about the meaning of this victim. "

"Yes, well, I may have gotten in his head. If he plans on committing another crime soon, perhaps he will make a mistake. Either that, or…he'll end up being even more careful."

"Unfortunately, all we can do is wait and see." L pinched the bridge of his nose, his mind still rolling around the information about Birthday and the fact that 13 had spoken to him in the middle of committing the murder.

"We need to meet L." Her voice was flat and to the point.

"And why is that Ms. 13. I believe we have exchanged all the information that we need to." He couldn't help feeling suspicious.

"For one, you still haven't told me anything about this Mr. Birthday character. How do I know what I'm dealing with? Two, I find it very difficult to fully trust someone that I have never met in person. I cannot gauge whether you're telling me the truth or lying to me through a phone or email." She had a point. He couldn't really gauge her personality or integrity through a phone and email either. Still…

"I'm not sure I'm willing to do that 13. I have many enemies, I can't be sure you're not one of them."

"Honestly you can't be sure unless you meet me. Truth be told, I'm not exactly trying to flounce out my identity either L. I'm going out on a limb here, the least you can do is come out with me. If you don't plan on it, then this…cooperation we have will end here. "He smirked at the steel in her voice.

He paused for a moment, letting her anxiety last for a little longer.

"Alright, we have a deal. I'll meet you, but only if you come to me. You know the cake shop down on cherry hill street, next to town café?"

"Yes."

"Meet me there at noon today. I'll be in the booth furthest to the back."

"It's a date." L listened to the phone click off, his mind still stuck on the word date. _Date?_ He had never been on a date before. No one seemed interesting enough, nor found him interesting enough to want to. That and the fact that his job took him away from all social aspects of life; literal solitude.

_It's not a date. It's business. I don't even know what she looks like._

But she was smart. Very few people were even on par with his intelligence, and she was the closest he had found.

He pressed the button on the intercom, its light flashing from red to green.

"Yes James. "

"Watari, I won't need you to go in my stead for this meeting. I'll be going myself."

"Yourself sir? Are you sure? Don't you think it may be a bit dangerous right now?"

"I'm meeting my informant not far from the hotel, it should be fine. I want you to come with me, though, just in case."

"Of course, James. When will we be departing?"

"20 minutes before noon. We'll walk."

:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P :P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P:P

He was waiting. Again. He didn't mind waiting, he usually considered it part of the game which made waiting that much more enjoyable. The longer you waited, the better it felt to get what it was you were waiting for.

Be it strawberry jam or a fresh kill, getting what he wanted always made the wait worth it.

But he didn't like waiting for people he had no intention of killing. It bugged him.

His hands dug into the pockets of a pair of overly large black slacks. His un-ironed dress shirt hung loosely over his pants, the loosened neck tie swinging with every step. His feet were bare as he walked around the crime scene. _His_ crime scene.

He watched with well hidden irritation as the other officers walked around, destroying his artwork. Quarter Queen had already been removed and taken to the coroner's office. All that was left was a chalk outline of a small body and blood splattered in various places in the alley behind a dumpster. He smirked inwardly, but successfully made it look like curiosity on the outside.

The one thing bugging him though was the feminine voice on the other line when he answered Quarter Queen's phone. It had been a random decision, one that he believed he would have gathered enjoyment from, but he didn't expect such a surprise to be on the other side. Her voice was rich and warm, yet cold and murderous. He could still feel her biting words cutting across his spine, and he loved it. This mysterious girl, he would find her and he would play with her until he was satisfied. She changed the game, he just didn't know how yet.

His head moved upwards at the sound of footsteps. A slender and good looking young woman in a FBI issued uniform walked over to him. He watched her eye him, but bit back slight surprise at her dismissal of his appearance. She would be fun.

"Goodmorning, I'm Naomi Misora. I'm with the FBI and I'm your partner for this case."

He eyed her for a moment, enjoying the combination of uneasiness and irritation fleeting across her face.

"It's a pleasure Ms. Misora. My name is Rue Ryuzaki. You can just call me Ryuzaki. "


End file.
